Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story

by Angela Arney

  ‘Mr and Mrs Catermole,’ she said, concentrating on eradicating the faint trace of her Italian accent so that her voice rang out clear, cold and imperious, each word tipped with steel. Margaret watched her with undisguised admiration. ‘I have had second thoughts, mainly, I might add, in deference to the inconvenience it will cause Lady Margaret. I will not call the police. But only on one condition, and that is that you pack your belongings and get out of this house and off this estate today and promise never to set foot in Hampshire again. I have plenty of evidence against you which I shall keep. If, in the future, I hear that you are anywhere near this estate, then I shall have no hesitation in using this evidence. Retrospective charges will be brought against you, and without doubt you will both go to prison. Do you understand?’

  Liana smiled inwardly at the aghast and yet relieved expressions on the Catermoles’s faces as they nodded their agreement to her terms. In fact, there was not much in the way of concrete evidence, and furthermore she had no idea whether or not retrospective charges could even be brought under English law. It was a calculated yet intuitive gamble on her part, and it paid off. The Catermoles could not wait to start packing. By that evening they had gone.

  Almost before Margaret had time to draw breath, Liana had put the rest of the plan she had already formulated into operation. Meg had been installed as housekeeper and cook for Broadacres, with Dolly and two part-time women from the village as housemaids. Bruno had taken over the running of the estate under the watchful eye of Wally who had been made overall manager of the estate and home farm, with an appropriate rise in salary to match.

  ‘Do you think we can afford to give him a rise?’ asked Margaret, slightly apprehensive about all the lightning changes taking place around her.

  ‘I can afford it,’ said Liana firmly. ‘I shall use some of the money I brought over with me from Italy. There is no point in its sitting in the bank doing nothing.’

  ‘So you see, mother, you have nothing to worry about,’ said William sarcastically. ‘Liana obviously has everything worked out down to the last penny!’

  He had made no objections to the changes apart from insinuating that such an obsessive interest in value for money as Liana possessed indicated a distinct lack of breeding. Liana remained silent and concealed her scorn. What was the use of having breeding and being penniless? Although William did not seem to realize he was practically destitute. He was wildly extravagant, spending money and writing cheques, never giving a thought to their financial circumstances. Liana wondered if he thought money just materialized out of thin air!

  ‘We must humour him until he’s better,’ said Margaret in answer to one of Liana’s shocked protests. She had just been presented with yet another of William’s bills. It was for wine and champagne, supposedly in short supply but somehow available to William whenever he went on one of his frequent trips to London. There he apparently consumed vast quantities of alcohol if the bills were anything to go by.

  The loss of a leg three years before did not, in Liana’s opinion, give him the right to spend the rest of his life living off other people. ‘William will have to work; he’ll have to do something on the estate,’ she told Margaret.

  ‘Yes, yes, dear. But not yet.’ Margaret was always agitated at the thought of anyone asking William to do anything.

  ‘Later he will have to work. He can’t live the rest of his life and do nothing.’ But William solved the most immediate problem by being recalled to hospital for two weeks for further fittings of another artificial limb. ‘At least in hospital he won’t be able to spend money,’ said Liana.

  ‘I shouldn’t count on it.’ Margaret had long ago resigned herself to William’s hastening the family bankruptcy. She found it difficult to change to a more positive attitude.

  Liana had no such qualms and did not doubt her own ability. She would get William working although she had reluctantly begun to realize that William was more of a problem than she had at first thought. And it was not just the fact that he made no secret that he resented her presence; it was something else. It was more than just plain ordinary dislike. Liana puzzled and wished she had some clue to William’s odd behaviour. When Nicholas returns, she resolved, we will tackle the problem of William together. The thought made her pause. Together! With a shock she realized that for the first time since her marriage she was beginning to think of Nicholas as her husband. She was actually beginning to feel married. How strange life was; why should she feel like that now, when Nicholas was far away with the Fifth Army as it slogged its way painfully across northern Europe? It was a good sign, though. All the strenuous physical and mental work was effectively blockading unwanted thoughts of the past. Yes, she must concentrate on Nicholas; he was the future.

  Liana took advantage of the two peaceful weeks William was in the orthopaedic hospital to push through the other reforms she had planned. Bruno was paid a salary for the first time; it was put aside each week in a savings account at the bank, ready for collection at the end of the war. As a prisoner of war he was not officially allowed to earn money but Liana did not see why he should work for nothing. She also scandalized the village, and caused a minor uproar with Margaret and the Pragnells, by encouraging Bruno and Meg to live under the same roof as man and wife.

  It was more than Lady Margaret and Mary Pragnell could stomach. Radical change which left them gasping was one thing, but this was quite different. It was not the done thing, men and women living openly together. That was her foreignness showing, they told each other as they came together to tackle Liana on the matter. They needed each other for moral support in the face of her determined stance. She listened quietly to their protestations and arguments against the arrangement, then countered it with, what seemed to her, sensible, compassionate logic.

  ‘So they are not married but they love each other and have a child. What is marriage after all? A mere piece of paper.’

  ‘A very important piece of paper,’ said Mrs Pragnell. She worried over what the villagers would say. An illegitimate baby was bad enough but living in sin! It was unthinkable.

  ‘And they will have that piece of paper, just as soon as the war is over. Bruno will be staying here in England because I intend to see that he does.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Mrs Pragnell began to weaken and Liana’s instinct was to push her point home and win the day, settle the matter of Meg and Bruno once and for all.

  Impulsively flying across to Mary Pragnell, she took the work-roughened hands into her own soft, slender ones. ‘Would you deny your beautiful daughter and your adorable grandson this happiness? I think not,’ she said softly, shaking her head. Her dark eyes blazed with a fierce light as she tried to explain, tried to cleave a way through years of inbuilt prejudice, tried to make it right for Meg in a way it could never be for herself. ‘Meg and Bruno have done nothing wrong. Loving each other is not a sin, and they have both suffered. Why should they suffer any longer when it could be so different?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary, thinking of Meg alone in her room, weeping night after night. Helpless to change things, she had never mentioned it, and neither had Meg but the sound had torn at Mary’s heart. She thought, too, of Bruno tramping his solitary mile-long walks in the woods, a sad, haunted expression on his face. ‘Yes,’ she repeated slowly, ‘they have suffered. Heartbreak and shame is a heavy burden for young shoulders. But for the life of me I cannot see that changing. The villagers will always sneer and never forgive or forget. People will always taunt them.’

  ‘Only some, not all,’ said Liana vehemently. ‘The mean spirits in the village will always think in a mean-spirited way. But that is their problem. They are not important. Good people have charity in their hearts. If you love Meg, truly, truly love her as only a mother can, then give them your blessing. That is all they need.’

  Mary looked at Liana. Why was it she had never noticed the deep compassion in Liana’s face before? How could she have missed it? It was etched around her mouth and shone in the limpid
darkness of her eyes. For a brief moment as Mary Pragnell looked into those eyes she thought she caught a glimpse of a terrible hopelessness and sorrow, something so deep it was far beyond her comprehension. Usually Liana succeeded in tucking the ever-present pain far away at the back of her mind, usually she managed to stamp on it until it was only a dull ache. But today the sorrow of Raul’s loss surfaced with renewed vengeance. The thought of Meg’s suffering and of wasted lost love reminded her of Raul. The irony was that while there was hope for Meg, there was none for her. Raul was lost to the world and her for ever.

  Mary’s expression made Liana realize that something of her thoughts must be mirrored in her face. With a discipline born of months of practice, she quickly relegated all thoughts of that beloved face, all thoughts of their few enchanted weeks together, back to where they belonged, so far back that sometimes she could almost fool herself into thinking she had managed to stop feeling anything at all.

  ‘I’ll tell them they have my love and support, and Wally’s, too,’ said Mary slowly. If Lady Liana could suffer for her daughter, the least she could do was to throw away her own prejudice.

  ‘Mine, too,’ said Margaret, suddenly wondering why on earth she had thought it wrong in the first place. Liana had summed it up so well – good people did have charity in their hearts. But she still worried. ‘Liana, do you really think it will be possible to get permission for Bruno to stay on after the war?’

  ‘Of course. It is merely a question of getting in touch with the right people.’

  Such was her aptitude for suave self-assurance that they believed it was as good as official, and Liana let them think it. Of course she had her own private moments of doubt, but never allowed herself to dwell on them. That was being a defeatist, something she had never been. Instead she started a concerted campaign of letter-writing, to their Member of Parliament, to the War Office, to the Society for the Welfare of Prisoners of War, indeed, to anyone who might be remotely interested or who could be influential in obtaining the desired outcome.

  As for Meg and Bruno living together out of wedlock, it provided the villagers with an item of gossip for a week or two, then it became accepted as the norm. As Liana had predicted, everyone, save for a few sanctimonious souls, began to link Meg and Bruno’s names together as naturally as if they were already married.

  As a result of all the changes, which everyone agreed seemed to have occurred with miraculous speed – ‘Like magic almost overnight,’ as Mary Pragnell was fond of saying – the employees on the estate were content with their lot. Liana gained respect and admiration, and the general consensus of opinion was that although her ways might be a little strange sometimes, there was no doubt that her heart was in the right place. The estate workers were slow, country folk, and to them Liana’s impatience to get things done quickly was strange, but then, they told each other, she was a foreigner after all, and what else could be expected. She was bound to be different!

  Lady Margaret sometimes felt she ought to pinch herself to make certain it was not some wonderful dream. Her life had changed so dramatically for the better. So much so, she still found it difficult to believe; and it had all happened so quickly. Margaret was inclined to agree with Mary Pragnell: it really did seem like magic, and she felt quite dizzy when she stopped to think about it. If only William would stay away longer, then life would be perfect.

  But William returned from his period of hospitalization when the two weeks had passed and seemed to be able to walk more easily on his new leg. Almost immediately he gave Liana a sealed envelope.

  ‘What is this?’ Liana was aghast. The envelope contained a bill for a considerable amount of money. Even by William’s extravagant standards it was large.

  ‘What does it bloody well look like?’ William’s voice throbbed with truculent resentment. He hated having to pass it over to Liana and had asked his mother to pay the bill. But for once in her life she had stood her ground and forced him to give it to Liana.

  ‘She is dealing with all the finances now,’ she said, ‘Liana and Mr Porter, the bank manager.’

  Liana stared at the piece of paper in her hand. ‘But when did you . . .? I thought you were in hospital.’

  ‘Not all the bloody time. Thank God they let me out for an afternoon occasionally.’

  ‘But how . . .? I mean, I don’t understand. All this money! What . . . where is Fortnum & Mason?’ That was the name printed in fancy lettering on the top of the bill.

  ‘Fortnum & Mason, my dear sister-in-law, is the finest food store in London. People with class would never dream of shopping anywhere else. But, of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? How could you? You’re only an ignorant foreigner!’

  Determined not to let him have the satisfaction of making her angry – he was obviously panting for a fight – Liana bit her tongue. She was not going to quarrel with him the first day he was back from hospital and she reminded herself that William had, and probably still was, suffering a lot. ‘One hundred and fifty pounds is a lot of money,’ she said quietly. ‘And we have very little in the bank.’

  ‘Then get an overdraft. Sell a painting, or one of those bloody Chinese vases that litter up the corridors. Do what you damn well like, but just pay the bloody thing.’

  Arrogantly indifferent, William strolled out of the room, leaving Liana near to tears with impotent rage. How could he be so irresponsible? But there was nothing she could do, and once again she found herself wishing Nicholas was back in England. Maybe he would be able to exercise some control over his brother. Sighing, she reluctantly wrote out the cheque. A food hamper and six bottles of wine for one hundred and fifty pounds. It was scandalous. Liana made up her mind that after the birth of the baby she would go up to London and visit Fortnum & Mason. She wanted to see for herself what it was that made this shop so special and expensive!

  William settled back into Broadacres, quickly resuming his solitary routine of reading and fishing, but Margaret noted with increasing worry that he had acquired a new habit: that of drinking at home. Although she knew from friends that he was often drunk when in London, he had never drunk to excess at Broadacres before. It was a new and worrying development, and one which she feared could end in disaster.

  During all this upheaval and reorganization, Liana found it very convenient to continue to fend off Donald Ramsay. And he, being the wise doctor that he was, reassured Margaret, who was getting increasingly agitated, and told her not to worry. He could see for himself that Liana’s figure was continuing to round gently and that her cheeks now had a healthy tan from her days in the sun. So he had been patient, knowing that eventually she would have to come to him. Now, in the middle of September, Liana knew that the time had come. She could no longer put off the visit to Dr Ramsay. So when Margaret suggested it yet again, she agreed to an appointment being made.

  *

  Liana lay on the couch in Dr Ramsay’s surgery ready for his examination. On the way, her usual indomitable courage had sagged and nearly deserted her: the only two previous occasions she had consulted a doctor had scarred her mind. But once there, she felt more at ease. Donald Ramsay’s surgery bore no resemblance to those in Naples. He and Dorothy lived in a rambling, comfortable, thatched cottage, surrounded by spacious gardens, on the edge of the village of Longford. It served as a home for the doctor and his wife, and combined a surgery, waiting room and dispensary for his patients. Donald Ramsay had tactfully withdrawn as Liana had undressed, and now she waited for his return, watching through the half-open window.

  Fragrant honeysuckle tendrils reached out, pushing at the lace shielding the window, and beyond that Liana could see that the garden was a chaotic riot of colour – roses and lupins competed for space amongst the cabbages, carrots and lettuces. Not an inch of soil was wasted. Next year, that is how the kitchen garden at Broadacres is going to be, thought Liana, as usual her mind racing on ahead with plans. Always so busy planning for the future, sometimes there was hardly time to think about the pre
sent.

  Donald Ramsay brought her mind back to the present with a jolt, however, as he gently palpated her abdomen. ‘Assuming that you conceived on your honeymoon, you are coming up to approximately four and a half months’ pregnancy,’ he said. He chose his words with care. She was still very small, but his expert hands could feel that the baby was well formed and very active.

  ‘I did conceive on our honeymoon,’ said Liana quickly.

  Donald Ramsay hesitated. He wanted to gain her confidence, make her trust him. If the baby was due earlier, he wanted to know. Indeed, needed to know for her own safety and that of the baby. He was not interested in morality or what others might perceive to be the lack of it. She must understand that and be convinced that he believed moral judgements were outside his province. His work was solely concerned with the welfare of the body.

  ‘You know, of course,’ he said, ‘that anything you say to your doctor is in the strictest confidence. I would never repeat it to anyone, not even your husband.’ There was no answer from the slender figure on the couch. In desperation Dr Ramsay tried another tack. He pointed to the carved ceiling rose, from the centre of which hung the light. ‘A double insurance of my silence, “Sub Rosa”: anything said under the rose is an honourable secret. You must have seen the symbol of the rose on the confessional box, so you know what it means.’ Then he cursed himself for raising the point of her Catholicism; it was something they had all taken care to skirt around. But she did not seem to mind.

  ‘I am a lapsed Catholic, Doctor Ramsay. Didn’t you know? And there is nothing I need tell you. Not even “Sub Rosa”.’

  She raised her head from the pillow on the couch and, fixing her dark eyes on his face, smiled at him. Bewitched, Donald Ramsay found himself smiling back. Satisfied, Liana laid her head down and relaxed. There was nothing to worry about. He believed her. Although he was unaware of it, her smile had the same effect on Donald Ramsay as, on earlier occasions, it had on Charlie. She had hypnotized him into believing her.